


The Devil's Slumber

by TheTentacleCommander



Series: The Devil's Saga [2]
Category: Biohazard | Resident Evil (Gameverse)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Crack, Bioterrorism Security Assessment Alliance | BSAA, Brutal Murder, Child Murder, Crack, Crack Relationships, Crack Treated Seriously, Crack and Angst, Dark Crack, Dom/sub Undertones, F/M, Fighting Kink, Flashbacks, Horror, Implied Sexual Content, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Implied/Referenced Torture, Laboratories, Monsters, Morally Ambiguous Character, Murder, Murder Kink, Not a Love Story, Old work, Past Rape/Non-con, Possessive Behavior, Predator/Prey, Raccoon City, Sexual Content, Size Difference, Stalking, Story Arc, Tentacle Monsters, Teratophilia, Umbrella Corporation, Unethical Experimentation, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-29
Updated: 2017-12-29
Packaged: 2019-02-23 16:42:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 16,310
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13194273
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheTentacleCommander/pseuds/TheTentacleCommander
Summary: "all sin arises from love – either perverted love directed towards others' harm, or deficient love, or the disordered love of good things"The second arc in the Devil's Saga.Based off of Dante's Purgatorio.An AU fic set a year after the events of RE5. This fic is like what Capcom did with the story lines of RE2/3: this and Teaching piggy back off each other taking place at the same time. It is Nemesis' take on his time with BSAA but with a twist - it explores the realm of his dreams and memories.Events from the immediate, to events in RE3 (lightly re-imagined), to further in his past are brought to light showing where his thought process came about.He is not written to be a hero or well-liked (he was created for the express purpose of killing after all): he'll have his moments ranging from the tragic to the more unforgivable. But in the end, the parallels will become more and more clearer as the fic progresses on.This fic will explore darker themes and topics: it will basically not shy away from nor sugar coat the violent or suggestive situations within.





	1. The Devil's Slumber - Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> " " = speech  
> ' ' = speech occurring in dreams/memories
> 
> *Soundtrack/lyrics to this craziness: Tyrant - The Bravery

**Prologue**  
  
Like a caduceus, fates twine and twine again unable to disentangle, unable to separate and live without the other. The two could only snarl at each other, their fates forcing them into this painful embrace. Over and over again.  
  
Tyranny of the worst kind.  
………………………………………………………………………………………………  
  
The White Room looms; a stark white cage filled with only the most dangerous of prisoners. The one who currently sat within was no exception. If anything this one wasn't wanted wasn't accepted – the room was it powerful enough to cage him? He has been in various cages before, many of concrete, of glass, of drugs, of mind – all of them with a layer of gilding to distract from the truth of their purpose to contain.   
  
But the White Room was the most gilded of all. For it not only contained his body but the mind. The White Room  **was**  the gilding, a pretty location that made him feel he had a place. The room was a shell of what truly contained him; like the parasite that roamed in the shell of a Tyrant, the White Room wasn't his true cage.   
  
She was.  
  
Jailer, owner, tyrant.   
  
And he could do nothing but rail against it. Nothing but fight and fail each time. Fight and flee into dreams. Unlike the other cages he lived, sat in, this jail did not require prodding, or violence, or examination. It just required him. And her. And this made it all the more uncomfortable.  
  
_Do monsters sleep?_  
  
He twisted on the too small cot, still awake, still staring up at the wall. His eye wandered to the door, the only way out and into his small white prison. Her scent came through the padded door; he knew she was there. But what use is to run over there when in the end she's still out of reach?   
  
Out of reach in mind and body. Not that it should matter. It shouldn't. Eventually, he'll have the strength to tear this toy off of him. Eventually…  
  
But her scent, it's so cloying, so close. He could taste her. He tossed again facing back to the wall. He shouldn't want her like this. Killing a pig is the only option. Humans deserve no more, no less.  _Too weak, unworthy. This one, this one doesn't command, shouldn't command…_ This lone female actively fights him. He should hate this. He should. He should be the master, not the dog.  
  
_Then how come I… like it?_  
  
The Tyrant curls himself closer, clenching his fists open and closed, trying to calm down again. It seemed every night he has to do this or the pain would return again. He can't do that or the noise in his mind will scream again. Scream and make his mind lost again.  _No, no, no, can't do that._  His brothers were lucky.  _So, so lucky._    
  
She isn't leaving.  _Why won't she leave…making it hurt worse!_  The B.O.W. is panting hard, pushing his face into the mattress, his nails causing droplets of purple to leave his palm. Eventually, the taunt stress he was putting his body under started to tire him out. This was the usual method for him: think too hard about the female, sit trying to calm himself and eventually through the stress he would tire himself out.   
  
His eye started to lid, staring up at the space of wall in front of the bed. The realm of calm blankness was inviting now; a soft hand touched his scalp. He looked out of the corner of his eye to see a Woman stand where a moment ago was blank white. Her dark brown hair hung down freely, clothed in robes he had never seen humans wear before. Her white wings were folded in; in Her free hand, She held a scourge. As his eye lidded completely closed he had looked into the Woman's eyes to see them matching to his own.  
  
_Do monsters dream?_


	2. The Devil's Slumber - 1 Pride

**Pride  
  
You're just a noise in my head  
I'll drown you out  
And I'll bury all the noises  
From your hateful little mouth**  
………………………………………………………………………………………………  
  
  
A small box of a room holds him. He feels lethargic; the sedatives the soft creatures gave intermittently to him causing him to feel disordered. Through his eyes, he saw nothing but a dingy fortified holding cell. He sat alone, in this cell in nothing but a makeshift kilt. A 'modesty sheet' he recalled them calling it. He found the cover rather pointless but obeyed. Fighting them wasn't allowed. The voice in his head told him so. Well not a voice, as more a screeching noise that left him worse off.  
  
He yielded to it, finding whatever he wanted to do not that important anyway. His brothers didn't and well they're no longer around aren't they? He sat blankly looking at the same spot on the wall of the holding cell, ignoring the glass window to the front of him. The humans that walked past would peer in, looking, analyzing, sneering…looking at him as a thing. Not knowing he thought of them as the same. Weak things on their side of the glass saw him as a merely a specimen.   
  
But once one was on the same side as him they dropped that act. Dropped their staring for something that only agitated him more. Fear. Fear dripped off of them; it smelt sharp and intoxicating. Sometimes they would try and keep a straight face, but their scent gave them away. He used to look at his makers in awe, but finding them afraid of their own creation that awe dropped to contempt. What kind of Gods would fear their own children? At times his contempt dropped to rage. Rage that these frail things could keep him here.  _Disgusting._  But for all that the idea of escape, hurting them…never crossed his mind.   
  
So he sat scanning the wall, trying to occupy his mind. Trying to stifle the deeper urge that grew within him each day he was under their care. Suddenly the side door opened as three of them walked inside. A female and two males walked in. The female has a clipboard and is writing something down. The two males flanked on either side of him in an obvious procedure. He sat still, wondering what they were planning.  
  
 _They are too close._  Whenever they are close they plan on giving him something or taking something.  _Never pleasant._  The female kept darting looks at him, her face semi-calm. But he could read from her body language she was not remotely calm and wanted out. Her eyes read like a deer tossed in the wolves' cage. He softly sniffed the air towards her…deep pure fear sung from her. He softly purred towards her enjoying the soft jump that she did.  _She smells so good, the little pig_.   
  
The males that surrounded him also reeked but other than their own fear they had looks of blatant disgust plastered on their faces. The bravery the Tyrant knew was because they outnumbered him. Out of the corner of his left eye, he sees the glint of a syringe.  _Sharp things never bode well. Never, never, never!_  Last time they gave him anything it burned his skin, burned so bad. The male started to lean, the group thinking he was still sedated.   
  
'…alright, let's knock this fuck out.'  
  
'Hurry up I'm tired of staring at it.'  
  
'Tracey come on closer, taking notes that far back is ridiculous!'  
  
'Fine. But it creeps me out.'  
  
Laughter…this agitates him more than their nervous chatter. The second male started to move around in an obvious attempt to distract. The B.O.W. turns his head to look; the other leans forward with the needle. It never made it to his arm. The Tyrant spun up lightning fast shoving the man against the wall. The audible crack of bone against the unforgiving concrete wall punctuated impact.   
  
The other male reared up screaming for his fallen partner. The thrown male was not moving. The male still standing screamed in rage running towards him. The female was stock still her fear grabbing hold of her. The male in a surprising act of brave stupidity reached up trying to attack him. The Tyrant dodged barely noting the shining glint in his hand.   
  
Suddenly purple covered the ground, his right eye going blank.  _This, this human this lesser thing…!_   Where he was earlier just agitated at getting prodded again, his full rage flared up. The female had shaken out of her paralyzing stupor to run out, but the door had suddenly locked from the outside.  
  
'Open the door!?'  
  
'We're getting killed in here Simon!'  
  
'What are you talking about protocol? Open the fucking door!'  
  
The sound of her banging on the door punctuated the throbbing pain that crossed his scalp now open and bleeding everywhere. The male looked up at him, realizing his mistake way too late. The scalpel shook loosely in his palm.   
  
'God, pleasepleaseplease…!'  
  
He took him into his left hand and ripped the sharp thing from the male with his right. The human was squealing in fear, babbling,  _not shutting up! Too much noise. Quiet!_  He took the scalpel and shoved it through his throat. The sound of wet instead of a voice only agitated him more. He wanted silence. With a twist he snapped the male's neck.  
  
The female was by the door, weeping, her legs visibly shaking. Despite her weak stance, that smell he caught from her…it was cloying, sweet. Intriguing. The female started screaming hard now, banging on the window. Two more of their number sat behind it, watching but otherwise not helping. He strode to her, the female curling in a ball on the floor.   
  
He brought up a large hand to the back of her shirt, pulling her back up off the floor. She didn't speak, just cringed. Her scent was flaring out, overwhelming now. He pushed her up against the wall, leaning against her.  _This female, this scent; why does it keep his interest like this?_  He closed his eye as he leaned flush against her.  
  
He opened his eye again; his mind blanking out. She was now lying in front of him blood covering her legs. He looked at her face, the blank look of catatonia crossing it. He has no idea what happened. All he could remember was leaning on her…he looked down himself seeing a matching trail of blood. He stared in confusion,  _what did he do_?   
  
As soon as his mind caught up, a piercing shrill noise filled his head. Angry loud and unforgiving, it pierced everywhere in his head, the sound declaring that he did something forbidden. It was debilitating, excruciating.   
  
 _Stop, too much…hurts…please mind is angry…don't know how or what…what …do?_  
  
He starts to ram his head against the wall, wanting the noise to stop or to pass out. In his agony, he could hear vaguely through the glass the two behind the glass. Watching. Studying him.   
  
'Directives are off. ….needs adjusting.'  
  
'Yes. ….for impregnation. If none terminate.'  
  
Hearing them talk like he was merely a subject, this only made his disdain for them grow. These creatures; what did they do to him? Why can't he remember? The mix of the shrill noise and his fury at being examined like this spilled out, banging his large hands against the glass. One jumped back not expecting the attack. The other calmly looked straight into his one usable eye.  
  
'Sedate. Subject progressing. Ready for combat testing.'  
  
The room filled with steam, the smell all but too familiar to the Tyrant. His skin started to burn, his eye lidding. He slid down the steam knocking him out cold, him landing into a pool of his own blood.  
  
………………………………………………………………………………………………  
  
  
He awakes to himself surrounded by beeping, glaring brightness. Tubes surround him, monitors showing various stats and vitals. Needles are woven in various places on his body; he rips them out, struggling off the oversized stretcher. His legs collapse under him underused, causing the stretcher to fall with him. He feels disoriented, confused. This looks like what the humans would call a lab. But for such a place it was unclean. The heavy smell of dust greets him. The smell of dust, humans and something new. Something that makes his head hurt and yet drowsy.  
  
He moves his legs sensing movement around him. The B.O.W. spot checks himself, seeing his familiar coat on himself… _Wait. Shouldn't I be dead?_  Flashes of that female roam into his mind.  
  
'You want Stars? I'll give you Stars!?'  
  
He stifles an indignant growl thinking about her. She should not have gotten over on him. Not at all. He could remember her smell, her face, her lack of visible nor smellable fear. That pissed him off the most. That she refused to acknowledge her place. But now was not the time to think of old scores. He heard the sound of footsteps, the number in the teens. That uncomfortable smell again.  
  
He senses them closing in on him.  
  
"Hey, something fell down here. I think not all of  'em are dead."  
  
"Check around each gurney and table! Go!"  
  
A flurry of steps stop as their number stop and gasp at him. They have automatic rifles out ready to shoot. One nervously cocks his rifle. The momentary noise was enough for the Tyrant to surge up, and directly punch the male in the face, crushing in his skull and killing him instantly. The rest started to shoot unaware of his bulletproof top, nor the pointlessness of shooting him.   
  
He grabbed a gurney and slammed it into the closest two, slamming them and it into the ground. The satisfactory sound of bones cracking greeted his hearing. One had this new type of gun, it looks like an air gun. That stuff, it was painful to even smell; he rips it out of the man's arms and shoves the sharp ejector tip into his chest cavity. The male shrieks then convulses before going still; the Tyrant guessed that the stuff wasn't pleasant to humans either.  
  
A female started to talk hurriedly into her phone, depressing a button on her watch. Before she could utter another sentence he rammed a tentacle through her midsection, leaving a gaping hole where her belly would be. He slid it back out, the sickening trail of her innards coming out with it. Two of their immediate number was left. A female aiming an assault rifle at his head and a male.   
  
"Distract him;…I'll get the Invidia."   
  
The female nods to her commander.   
  
She begins to shoot at his head, her aim efficient and accurate. He went to bum rush her, the woman rolling to her side. He could sense the darker man sneaking around him. The 'commander' was reaching for the gun currently sticking out of its previous owner's chest. A tentacle snakes around the man's foot, tripping him and dragging him away from his prize. He drags the man with him, now scanning the room for the woman. He lets the man's head hit a chair leg knocking him out.  
  
Suddenly he felt the tentacle keeping hold of his prisoner rip from a well-aimed shotgun blast. The man dropped motionless onto the floor. The Tyrant roared in anger, searching the female out. He leaped across a desk following the direction the blast came from. She sat with her gun in front of her, fear dilating her eyes. He was going to make her pay dearly.   
  
He held out his palm, the tentacle sliding out ready for its deadly purpose. He growls lowly, standing before her form reeking of that prized, pleasurable fear – before a sharp pinch was felt on his back. He only had time to look behind him seeing the now conscious male aiming a gun his way.   
  
A yellow dart protruded from his back, the syringe automatically pumping that liquid that was now causing his skin to burn and his vision to blur. The world spun hard his body giving to the sudden urge to sleep…  
  
"Josh…!"  
  
"You…ok…"  
  
His body fell to the floor, their mundane conversation the last thing he registered before fleeing back to unconsciousness.


	3. The Devil's Slumber - 2 Envy

**Envy  
  
Everytime you come around  
There's a bouquet for me  
A corsage of promises  
And I am pinned  
Like a butterfly on a card  
I'm naked and I'm scarred  
And you're so perfect to me**  
  
………………………………………………………………………………………………  
  
She sat beside him, giving him a look that would have enraged him further had he had the strength.  Her soft voice trailed over him, bell-clear even after his attempt at circumventing the thing on his back.  _She looked so surprised…_  
  
"…every bit of the pain, suffering, and loss you feel now, you brought on yourself."  
  
 _Just like then…_ his eye slit closed, then fluttered open. The white of the room ripped away, to that of the Clock Tower. It loomed over her and held him sitting triumphantly at the top spire. The look of stunned surprise crossed her features the sky lighting up with brightness as the escape chopper bloomed in a fiery flower, the remnants falling to the ground.  
  
 _She can't leave. I won't allow it._  
  
The female runs without fear. She runs without terror. She runs prolonging the hunt. She runs – and he follows. The woman should be dead by now, but only by him staying his hand is she still breathing. She limps in pain and exhaustion, like a broken deer and yet she still runs. Any other of her kind would have accepted their fate long ago.  
  
But she's too stubborn. Where her eyes should read fear, she looks on with bravery. Where they should read despair, she shows faith. Where he should see submission, he sees outright fury. As the chopper fell to earth in a blaze covered ball she turned bodily towards him. He expected despair, fatigue, final acceptance of the damned. But all he saw on her face was cold rage, with eyes that declared that she refused to die like this.  
  
 **This**  angers him. This makes him wish not to give her simple death now, but to utterly annihilate her. She will learn her place if he had to beat that knowledge into her down with her last dying breaths. Starting with wiping that look of hope that once sat on her face; hope that she doesn't deserve. She is no better than the thousands that fell here; he sees to it that her reprieve is snatched away.   
  
The female directly ran at him, guns raised. She aims upward, shooting at him in point blank range knowingly wasting more clips. She does this in her blind rage and leaves herself open - he takes advantage and grabs her close by the throat. A quick twist and a flick of the hand has him impaling her bare left shoulder. She looks up at him, and for the first time since killing that other yellow coated pig, her face read true pain. But no fear; not even a twitch.   
  
He wanted so badly to smash her face in.   
  
Instead, he pushes her up against himself savagely pressing the tentacle deeper, slow into her weak flesh digging into muscle causing red to drip down onto her blue top. He leans forward feeling her trying to jerk from the pain, not ready to let her go. He growled lowly, before slowly licking across her sweat covered face. He took his time, tasting the grime and salt that coated it, her face trying to twist away. Revulsion crossed that face, another emotion that he enjoyed dragging out of her. She starts to jerk harder, brushing against him causing him to instinctively pull her closer. And for a moment his train of thought was lost on him-  
  
Before she kicked him hard bringing to him suddenly to his knees. His tentacle retracted, and his grip on her throat loosened as he tossed her far to his side. The female landed against the nearby bush cupping her damaged arm. She weakly looked up, having the willpower in the blur of pain to spit at him:  
  
'Pervert.'  
  
A word spoken, its meaning lost on him; the only thing he feels now is rage. Deep unforgiving rage. She limps away to gain cover severely weakened by his attack. He rises up shakily from the ground the pain finally passing, the spots that dotted his limited vision fading. He moved to end this pig, clearly overstepping her place when suddenly that unimportant male runs up trying to play hero.   
  
 _Why do all these unimportant ones defend this female? One destroyed himself to keep her alive. What of importance is she?_  
  
The man does a good show, dumping more ammo until a good hit from the monster's left hand sends the male clear across the flaming ruins. The female had in the time of that minor annoyance regrouped, that hateful determined look returning to her eyes. But again, woman,  _again_! She fights, fights with all of her being to put him down. She pushes through her pain standing her ground. Her bullets take out one arm, before doing lethal damage to his overtaxed body.  
  
Again he feels blackness; but as he succumbs to it he inwardly smiles, knowing she won't be up for long, not without aid. He'll see her again; he won't let her go, not so easily.  
  
 _It's not fair for her to run away and …I…can't._  
………………………………………………………………………………………………  
  
He wakes in fire, fire that only managed to damage clothing. Nothing of true importance was lost. If anything he gained an advantage, as more tentacles replaced his ruined arm to aid in destroying that woman. But for some reason it felt like something internally was broken; something wasn't right. But the Tyrant just could not place it. He dismissed it going back on the hunt.  
  
His bloodlust would never be satisfied till he had her utterly.   
  
He smelled the area for her trail his eye landing on the clock tower. He hid in the shadows noticing the male walking out of a side door, looking as if he was pondering what to do. The human limped a bit, the past day's events visibly taxing him as well. The monster thought to take him out but decided to limit his options. He was in no hurry, and this male like the others wouldn't provide nearly the same amount of challenge as the female that was assuredly inside.  
  
He waited, watching him walk in the direction of a nearby hospital. The Tyrant then walked through the same side door. He walked through the lavish lobby finding the side chapel, the heavy door locked but teasing him with her heavy scent. He jerked the lock, breaking the internal workings. Pulling the door open, he walked into the small chapel, the female sprawled out onto the altar. He walked towards her, closing the heavy doors behind him. The female looked like a sacrificial lamb, ready for death.   
  
His blood, his whole being swum with agents he knew that no human would be able to withstand; she was no exception. She was covered in a sheen of sweat, thrashing about her face contorting in pain and delirium. He became somewhat fixated on studying her; killing her moving to second on his list of actions. His bloodlust sat back for a moment; he could be a patient creature when he wanted to, that and his curiosity wanted to see what her face held at her worst. The B.O.W. reached out a large hand letting a finger faintly press against her chin. She was completely out of it but interestingly moved to softly press against his open palm, her body only knowing that the hand felt good against her flushed skin.   
  
The monster was taken aback by her reaction. He removed the hand from her face noting her face turning up towards him wanting the comforting touch to return. She seemed so helpless now; showing none of that bravery or faith. He could do anything to her, and she was in no position to do anything about it…but the only thing he felt moved to do was trail a fingertip down her sweat soaked face. The tip of his fingernail trailed lightly down her jaw, up her chin, to her lower lip parting slightly despite her body's ongoing agony. Her thin, fleshy lips trembled before lightly sucking the tip enclosing it between them. An indescribable feeling came to him then, the intimate contact very unexpected.   
  
He slowly removed the digit from her mouth, unsure now as to the reaction he felt. He worked his mind, trying to place it – and curious why the noise in his head was not going off.  He's sure being near like this angers it somehow. The memory of the shrill pain he endured, the blacking out, causes him to hesitate.   
  
But his curiosity pushes him further onward. The altar creeks with added weight as he laid beside her. He places the finger on her lips again, causing the same reaction while he did not pull away. The female leans back onto him, her body trembling in delirium yet registering that someone was beside her. This semi-willing closeness was alien to him; admittedly terrifying. Her form starts to press closer…He knew he should push her away…should do it now or the bad noises will come…  
  
But she shifts minutely, so faint and yet enough to keep his attention. Enough that every fiber of his being wanted to do exactly the opposite what his mental jailer wanted him to do. His finger feels more warmth as the female pressed more of the digit inside of her mouth. His tentacle-laden arm lightly leans onto her hip, and she deliberately presses herself closer to him.   
  
 _Why is she moving like this? It…feels...  
  
It'll punish me, I know it._  
  
He leans against her nape, his breath causing her to bodily jerk against him. Her breathing once ragged with pain had now dropped deeper, her voice soft. The female's back arched against him, the movement foreign. But it wasn't a movement of pain, her flushing cheeks told him that much. Humans don't do that in pain…what would cause this?  
  
She rolled against him again, the Tyrant finding each pass increasing harder to ignore. He could feel himself tensing; that troublesome part of himself pressing against her through his bottom skirt. He physically raged, the sensation causing him to lean closer wanting more despite fearing that noise he was sure to come. But unlike the numerous times before he knew that violence wasn't going to help in fighting…this.   
  
And then a noise, deep and guttural came from her, a noise that caused whatever she was doing to him to pitch in intensity. Her heart beat wildly, her body arching harder, her bell-like voice carrying in the chapel. Real worry ran through his addled mind.  
  
 _…punished… about now…?_  
  
That sound never came. Instead, he found himself slowly pushing back against her, not understanding what he himself was feeling, but his body on a baser level responding on his mind's behalf. He growled into her nape, him bodily trying to reach,  _something. What_ , he didn't know or understand. She arches again, her body trembling the motion causing his finger to slip out of her mouth. A sweaty hand drags it lower, placing it past her skirt. The monster could smell that thick cloying smell, a scent that was very distracting yet familiar. He should pull away, should crush her skull…but again he stayed his hand.   
  
 _Again for this female._    
  
She rocked harder, her cries more intense the harder she pressed against him. He was panting wanting, needing to feel what she was. Her blue eyes fluttered open glazed in euphoria, and then rolled upward as a sharp cry came from her throat. He pressed against her, wanting to feel this wondrous thing she was feeling.  
  
But it would not reward him.   
  
He teetered at it, dangled, but suddenly it seemed as if his own body rejected his request. Release would not come. It was literally as if someone had pressed a button snatching it, yanking it away. He went to reach down and a sharp pain jerked him, the thing in his brain deciding now was a good time to chime in. He shot up off the altar, his frustration mounting, physical pain destroying any pleasant sensation he could have had. He dug his nails into the wood, leaning his face down onto the altar trying to endure the knifing pain screaming in his head.   
  
 _Why…?_    
  
As quick as it started it ended…his mind ringing from the sheer intensity of the attack. He looked down at his prey; sleeping calmly her face still flushed enjoying her momentary reprieve from the pain. Her aroused scent hung deep in the air – and he could do nothing about it. He leaned up, never feeling such deep-seated frustration at one singular being since his first breath.   
  
He raised his hand to strike her, but he stopped himself. Killing this bitch when she can't even register it was him, can't even fight back… _No. This human at least earned that much_. She wasn't a coward. She would earn her death awake and knowing it would be him to end her. He brought his hand down against her face again letting his hand brush against her hair…then swung forward smashing a hole in the wall behind her.   
  
As she turned to her side in contentment the visibly distraught monster walked out of the room the world fading from that of the tower to feathers to the blinding white walls of the conscious.


	4. The Devil's Slumber - 3 Wrath

**Wrath  
  
There's noises in my head  
Just noises in my head  
If I could I'd drown them all out  
I'd bury all of these noises  
From your tyrant mouth**  
  
………………………………………………………………………………………………  
  
He sits against the cement wall, none the worse for wear. The Tyrant awoke to the realization that he was in new, very constricting clothing; straps, buckles, items not made for comfort as much as protection. Save for the area over top his larger right arm, he was covered from head to toe in body armor. It gave the appearance of a multi-layered trench coat, made to restrict his form and yet to provide a sense of a human-esque appearance.  
  
But what caught him off guard more was the tightness in his face. His right eye…he no longer could see out of it his field of vision cut in half. His hand reaches up, touching where it should be, feeling only the tender stretched skin and numerous metal staples. Whoever patched him up didn't bother to remove the staples or use surgical thread; they just stapled him haphazardly across his scalp and deemed it a success he didn't die on the operating table.  
  
He didn't expect too much from his handlers. They would sacrifice their own; he knew that much from the events prior to him passing out. He noted a strange smell emitting from the room. Not blood or the smell of humans, or that acrid sedative, but strange still. It was foreign and flooding the room. Across the glass partition between him and them played a screen. Flashing across them were pictures, photos of a large city, of persons he had never seen before.  
  
Pictures of logos, faces, tattoos, eyes, names. All of them related to this 'S.T.A.R.S.'. All of them noted of high importance. Many of the shots panned upon two in particular. A skittish looking male in a yellow top. He has piloting skills but is known for fleeing a scene.  
  
The other was of a female with a fit build, with striking blue eyes and chocolate brown hair. Supposed master of unlocking assorted locks and chains; weapons expert. She looked more confident than the other one, her face belying no fear, the profile stating her persistence in completing a mission. They both were to live in the same city; from what he surmised he was being prepared to go there.   
  
As the pictures lingered, he could feel something in his mind changing; the feeling of a deep-seated emotion becoming associated with them. He couldn't quite grasp it but it felt good…powerful, it felt like it consumed his whole body with almost a rabid fever. A mix of anger, but not irritation…but more an almost indescribable feeling akin to  _mania_. A feeling that he wanted, latched onto. But before he could comprehend it, it was gone, leaving behind only emptiness.  
  
As he sat pondering what just happened, the side door opened. He never saw this door open before; the front door by the glass partition, yes, but this one was to his right. Until it opened he never even knew it was there. Curiosity led him past the newly revealed exit. He wandered open to a room structured like the city he saw in the pictures.   
  
The room was arena-sized, filled with staged buildings, light posts, roads, trees. But what caught his eye was the table beside the entrance he came out of. A military-grade rocket launcher sat with a few shells at the ready. He had never wielded one nor seen one before but something in his mind registered its usage almost immediately. He lifted it; it felt light in his hands, the grip feeling as if it was specifically tailored for him.  
  
His senses picked up movement. Instinctively he hid behind a dark building simulating a bank. A pack of humans was nearby. He could sense about five. Peering to the side from his position, he saw two females, three males, all in identical gear. U.B.C.S. the lettering read. Similar to that other logo from earlier.  
  
They were armed to the teeth, with high powered rifles, grenades, handguns, protective vests. They looked to be on a hunt. But for what? He held back in the shadows listening for clues.  
  
'Hope they pay us over time for this.'  
  
'Yeah, how the hell does a B.O.W. get loose in here?'  
  
'I swear Umbrella is staffed with the most incompetent bunch of fucks ever, losing their shit everywhere.'  
  
'And we get to clean it up. Did they even say what it looks like?'  
  
'No. They told us that they had no time to confirm, just that a B.O.W. was loose and to kill on sight.'  
  
'So we're in the dark looking for shit. Figures.'  
  
 _B.O.W.? What's that…wait._  Was he to help these loud fools? They are acting as if they aren't expecting his arrival…  
  
It didn't take much to arrive at the next conclusion. Why would his handlers throw him in here to be hunted? Do they need to get rid of him too? Was letting his brothers die not enough? The anger at this betrayal was immediate, inky, black. The countless days he mulled over the nature of those that ran his world; those that were not like him but treated him as less…those that took and took and took…something in him snapped as he then came to an even darker conclusion.  
  
 _Humans._  Lying, filthy, loud; he'll make them pay for this. He won't die for their sport.   
  
 _Especially to these loud cattle._  
  
That deep dark feeling from the earlier room rose within, stronger now fueling his internal anger. A loose rock was by his foot. He threw it hitting a nearby neatly pruned tree.  
  
A male, olive skinned with a bit of a paunch walked towards the noise, breaking from the group. The others walk further; the group not expecting anything back this way. He walks around the dark of the building finding nothing but some misplaced trash cans and shadows.  
  
'Fuckin' room is creepy. They could give us a raise but spend it on an over glorified movie set; nice.' The man continues to gripe taking out a cigarette by a nearby tree. 'Hey if I have to be paid to clean up shit, at the very least I can get a smoke in,' the man mumbled. He leaned back enjoying the cig, flicking the ash to the side. The man figured he could stay a good minute or two and he'll catch up.   
  
He smoked the last of his cig, dropping the used filter and stomping it out on the ground. He leaned back against the tree to take one good stretch – and met eye to colorless eye. The smoker would have screamed but a tentacle had quickly looped around his neck, and then pulled him up bodily by the head. The sound of a neck-snapping clean was heard from the tree, the man dead before the butt of his cigarette died out.  
  
 _Dirty, filthy, weak. Humans… these pigs can't fight. If they can't defend themselves…why spare those not worthy to live?_  
  
The Tyrant pushed the limp body onto a lower visible branch, and left him there but not before kicking over the nearby trash can loudly.  
………………………………………………………………………………………………  
  
  
The group had wondered where the 5th went.   
  
'Probably taking an extended break. Lazy fucker.'  
  
'Wouldn't blame him. But there is a target around, we should at least check on him-'  
  
'What was that?'  
  
'I don't know but we'd better go see. Probably him tripping on his ass.'  
  
The group burst into laughter. They went to the building and all came to a halt as their comrade's body was found hanging off a tree branch, the neck highly bruised and discolored.   
  
'Oh God-'  
  
'Fuck, he was lazy but didn't deserve this…'  
  
'Ok ...spread out, but in groups of two. We can cover more space but have a teammate back the other up if we see it.'  
  
The B.O.W. hung back atop a building a few blocks away, aware that they found the body just now. The flush of a fresh kill fueling him; he unleashed a deep, inhuman growl that traveled throughout the large area. The group looked up to the direction of the noise; none of them wanted to admit it, but it chilled each to the bone.   
  
'It seems whatever is in here with us wants to play now. Time to teach this fucker how we U.B.C.S. roll!'  
  
'Fuck yeah!' The tall blond cheered while cocking his gun taking the red-headed woman with him to the north of the sound. The leader, a pale freckled man, walked off with the dark-haired woman; she adjusted her battle harnesses as both went towards the east hoping to surround whatever is trapped in here with them.  
………………………………………………………………………………………………  
  
  
The lead and his partner headed towards the target building's east, assuming their quarry would be nearby.  They encountered an alley full of parked cars, and aged signs to nonfunctioning businesses. He went to examine a nearby building, not too far inside. The woman walked forward giving the back alley area a once over. She looked and saw just cars, nothing underneath or beside them. But she didn't peer all the way into past the corner of the alley…the dark form that hid there blended perfectly in the shadows. As she turned to head into the same building her lead headed into she had only time to look up into the view of the tall figure, lifting with ease one of the cars. She had only time to turn before the 2-ton car landed on top of her crushing her instantly.  
  
The lead came out in time to see the horrifying death of his partner, then to see a rocket launcher aimed towards him. He dived back inside as a missile passed by him exploding to the other side. The blast rocked him pitching his body to the far wall. Before he could move his battered body to run from his assailant, another missile sailed directly towards him. The man's body was destroyed, the fire lapping up anything that was left.  
  
The two members left standing heard the car landing and ran only to hear…rockets?! What kind of B.O.W. uses weapons especially as high grade as a launcher? The blond and redhead got their answer as they took in the easily over 8-foot tall beast that crossed their paths.   
  
The Tyrant could smell their fear radiating off of them, feeding this pleasing feeling building inside him. He never wanted it to leave him.  _And these pigs will give it to him!_  The blond pulled out a submachine gun, hoping to take him down. As bullets bounced off the tall monster's frame, the sick realization hit him - the beast was wearing a bulletproof outfit…as if whoever made him knew he was going to be encountering heavy fire.  
  
'They set us up.' The woman stated in disbelief.  
  
'No shit! Back me up!'  
  
She brought out her shotgun, aiming for his stapled head…but seeing literally no damage register. It was if they were shooting down a tank. Then with inhuman speed the Tyrant ran up to the blond male, pushing him to the ground. Then with savage brutality, the monster rammed the butt end of the empty launcher into the man, the sick crunching of his form molding around the weapon until there was nothing but a mash of blood and bone.   
  
The female had after the first slam ran. Ran hard ran fast. The Tyrant's predatory instinct flared hard, the sight of a prey running from him making him more excited more aroused then just merely having them find him. He let her run, this chase way more interesting. He absently licked his teeth, a deep pleased growl coming forth.  
  
The woman ran hard finding the glass panel by the door they came through. She could see lab techs inside idly looking at the monitors as if this was an ordinary day. She banged against the glass screaming for help; screaming wondering why they weren't at the least bit concerned, or even trying to stop this slaughter. Her red hair fanned against her face, the strands sticking to her tear-stained face.   
  
She knew they heard her – and she knew the monster did too. She slumped against the glass, defeated. She felt the slight displacement of hair; a finger stroking her face. Then a hard yank as the larger hand pulled her by the hair. The monster pushed her face against the glass, her tears smearing against it. The monster looked into the glass, seeing that familiar detached man from earlier, looking him again directly in the eye.   
  
 _Father wants a show from him?_    
  
He softly purred into the female's ear, the woman shuddering, and then openly crying with her hair caught in his hand. She looked up with her tear stained eyes pleading.   
  
 _Gladly._  
  
He merely licked his teeth – and started to ram her face into the glass. The brute force on the first pass had her nose explode into a sea of gore, her screaming coating the room. Then he kept doing it, again and again, her skull cracking with each pass. He rammed her head so hard cracks were starting to appear on the surface of the glass. The sounds she made regressed from crying to garbed, to nothing. Still, he rammed her indistinguishable head into the glass covering it with red.   
  
Almost every person in the room, jaded from years of working here had a look crossing from shock, to revulsion, to fear. He could see it now, they knew their place. But the lead one, his face was blank. The only registering of emotion at all was the small shaking of his hand. But it was enough. He knew they all feared him now.  _As it should be._  He dropped the unrecognizable corps and glared through the window, a visage of blood, gore, and undeniable rage.  
  
The feeling, this feeling that washed over him now was all-consuming, euphoric. The screaming, the power he felt in ending these useless pigs squealing as they die. He understood this feeling all too well. It was the same as in his room earlier. It surged and clamored again especially when that brown haired female came to mind.   
  
 _Yes…I want to feel this; I need to feel this…_  
  
It was the first time he truly gave into bloodlust. But it wouldn't be the last. He shut his eye, covered in the blood of the damned, and tilted his head back. The room was filled with a deep roar, the monster satisfied with his work.   
  
He opened his eye again to see himself in the cramped van, the door slid open. The tall Woman with wings stood by the entrance, a scale held in one hand. She nodded to the outside…as he wiped across his bloodstained face he looked back but the Woman was gone.


	5. The Devil's Slumber - 4 Sloth

**Sloth  
  
I let the words shot down my throat**  
  
………………………………………………………………………………………………  
  
  
He curled on the mattress, opening and closing his hands again. He was bristling with anger and the alien feeling of…of…  _humiliation_ ; it railed against everything he stood for.  _Being told what to do by a human?!_   This woman is overstepping her bounds. Overstepping them as if she has a say. She's lucky this  _thing_  was on him. He would have loved to turn the tables.  
  
 _Loved to touch her, to feel her…even if it was just a boot…_  
  
 _Stop it!_  His mind now flared with another emotion, the attachment that he shouldn't have towards anything much less this overbearing female! His palms were starting to coat with purple again, the memory of her looking down at him like that, it was confusing. If any other human had done such a thing he would have been inclined to rip their foot off his face.  _But her – why is she always the exception?_  
  
 _Why does it feel good when he's alone with her, what's the difference with her?_  He found himself asking this line of questioning many, many times over wishing he could arrive at a clear answer. But as like every other recent night, he merely fumed, opening and closing his palms till exhaustion. The tall monster could only curl into a ball, hoping that if he turns tight enough the confusion will cease. Sometimes he scratches the padding on the wall…not so much to rip the thing attached to him, but to focus his energy on something even as inane as fabric; the pure white sheets soiling with faint spots of purple.   
  
His eye slit closed hoping to block out the frustration. Slowly he felt himself lull into oblivion a soft feathered touch the only sign that he was finally away from reality.   
  
………………………………………………………………………………………………  
  
  
 **There were four.**  
  
He had brothers. This he knew. The four Nemesi, created alike from a standard Tyrant and a parasite. He used to live amongst them, the other three the only ones that understood what he thought, desired, wanted. None of them could talk at least in any language discernible to humans, but they were so close talking was not needed. They were not fully complete yet but still were a strong lot.  
  
They looked identical to each other; lip less stretched skin, barely necrotic and yet slightly 'tan', the skin in places ripping slightly due to the 'things' their Gods put inside them...or more accurately 'they' being given these living suits of armor to live in. They did not question, just looked up with blank pupil-less eyes, in complete obedience.   
  
They all went through the same tests, the same conditioning. Each day posed a new test, a new task, a new stint on an operating table, things that they all endured. But because they all experienced it, all felt the pain of the knife or of the needle – it made them strong as a unit. Like clinging to like. They were close, almost too close. Most Tyrants would be at each other's throats, but maybe it was the sharing of the common parasite or just damn luck, but each stood by the other.   
  
But one brother though was smarter than the rest; he began to question their Gods, their providers of such 'comforts'. He spent his free time plotting, scheming, and trying to convince the other three of the cracks in their handlers' armor. He tried so hard to convince his siblings that they did not belong here. That they were strong enough on their own… that if they would think offensively they'd be unstoppable together. He lived to think, to study, to break out of this fishbowl.  
  
But the other three were content in their cage. As long as they were left alone, they did not care if it was gilded. They accepted their Gods were only doing what was necessary for them, as they did create them, 'birth' them. Their Gods kept them healthy, living, alive. To bite that hand seemed almost akin to sacrilege. The other three had this as their mindset, this general acceptance of what comprised their world.   
  
But as firstborns are wont, he could not, would not take what they had as the only option. They tried to convince the first born he was overthinking their lot, that he should accept it here. But creatures of his aptitude don't do well even in the most pretty of cages.  
  
And so one day as they all sat in containment the side door opened with a female and two males; in to give them their daily treatment. The other three sat compliantly and took their drugs, their injections, the physical examinations. The firstborn – took this moment to run. He ran with his issued modesty sheet. Ran through the halls his large form finding it hard to hide but made up for it with speed. He ran out running the staff, finding an elevator; a lone human was trapped inside terrified. The Tyrant gestured up; the human pushed the button heading to the first floor.   
  
By now their handlers were alerted. The other three were worried; they had never been separated this long from any of their number before. The three didn't have to speculate though. The feeling had crossed them all the moment he fled that he would never return.   
  
The elevator opened, to a group of guards equipped with guns. The monster grabbed the trapped human as a shield letting the initial fire catch him instead. And he ran, ran without fear, ran without terror, ran to what could be freedom from his cage. He spared a glance; a bold look down the hall…and the Tyrant saw something he had never seen before. It was bright in its beauty and newness.   
  
 _Sunlight._  
  
But its blazing glory changed to pain, new and heated pain as it blinded his maladjusted eyes. He skidded to a stop trying to recover, but the guards did not wait and mowed him down. Down till nothing but bullet casings and purple blanketed the floor.  
  
 **Then there were three.**  
  
The other three did not understand the emotion that railed up within, but they knew that their smartest and brightest was dead. A picture flashed on the clear glass – a picture of his bullet-ridden body.  _A warning_. The three didn't show it, but were convinced in the safety of their gilded cage, and behaved.  
  
But the ones that maintained that cage were not convinced. They wanted to be sure they would behave. They decided to punish them; punish them in varying degrees. Two of the three were carted off, leaving one alone. Alone to ponder and wonder why.  
  
But he inwardly jumped in happiness as they returned. But they did not look the same.   
  
The others…  
  
 _Others look broken. Unsure why?_  
  
They looked pale, listless and empty of soul. They also did not wear the curtain that the Nemesi wore: for the two had nothing to hide anymore. Nothing at all to show but stitches and emptiness.   
  
The three sat, but the group was not the same. One Nemesi had what the other two wanted, missed. They at first lamented why their Gods would punish them so dearly…it was not their crime, why? But then they looked to the spared one. They gazed at him in anger, then in resentment, and then despair as coping with the loss was impossible. That one, spared but cast away by his own kin, turned inward; no longer like the others. Hoping that if he hid anything distinguishing their masters would leave him be.  
  
One Nemesi went to sleep like the rest one night – but did not wake up. Like a bird without his song, he willed himself dead.  
  
 **Then there were two.**  
  
The two left had nothing to link them; one was in despair as his sense of self was gone, the other ashamed that he was spared, and so alienated himself from the other. They no longer spoke the language that bound them...they being no longer the same. The two were taken out for experimentation one day. As they locked in one, the other ran. Ran knowing the consequences. Ran knowing, wanting the end result. He never made it past the next hall.  
  
The last Nemesi could only think:   
  
 _Alone now…_  
  
 **And now there is one.**


	6. The Devil's Slumber - 5 Greed

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Lyrics Jill sings: Pray - RE5 OST

**Greed  
  
Violent ties with hands like a steeple  
Tell me lies with a tongue like a needle**  
  
...............................................................................................................................  
  
  
The cramped tube that his body was squeezed into popped open, letting the acrid night's air hit him. The air was filled with the smells of smoke, flesh, death; the things that a man made Hell was made of. It wasn't like his handlers were coming to get him. He knew he was just an expenditure…so he planned to revel in this Hell, having every intention of adding to it in cruelty. He lifted his head towards the air separating the smell of the living from the dead and took to that route. The Tyrant figured that if anything his targets would be amongst their own kind.  
  
The shambling dead at first came towards him; he moved fluidly therefore he must be of the living. That idea was shattered as the first one that rolled up on him had its head squeezed in with one palm. The rest reconsidered and let him be. The crinkle of leather punctuated every step, his steps soft despite his size. The scent leads him to a heavily barricaded high school gym. If there were any humans, they were probably inside probably huddling for protection.   
  
He was about to take a trip inside to investigate when a flash of yellow crossed his vision. A lanky male in a yellow vest was running from a group of zombies, the weapon in his hand clicking empty. He ran looking to try and make it inside the safety of the barricaded gym. The larger creature made his way towards the scrambling male, still distracted by the horde. The man's back was turned away, until a deep growl suddenly caused the lesser creatures to scatter.   
  
The man could only turn the dread evident from his features. The pure terror that crossed the man's face was golden. A tentacle slid out of the Tyrant's hand, ready to strike. But despite the man's initial fear he did not stay, he ran. He ran at full speed, bee lining towards the gym leading the B.O.W. to its side entrance.  
  
The man digs for the key, twisting it then dropping it behind him in his hurry. The monster retracted his tentacle in no true rush, letting him slip inside. The fleeing male merely gave him reason enough now to go inside. He waited a good minute, and then ripped open the door his quarry ran into. Despite its locks, the door gave easily, allowing him to step inside.  
  
………………………………………………………………………………………………  
  
  
The room lit up with a chorus of panic. The Gym contained about thirty or so survivors, using the place as a shelter. It was a small run down place filled with families trying to make sense of the calamity outside. But out of the throng, no yellow vest. A male rolled up fear etched all over his face, a shaky shotgun aimed at the taller visitor's head. The monster merely licked his teeth, kicking a heavy unused oak desk in front of the back entrance blocking it entirely. The only way out was behind him, and he had no intention of allowing that.  
  
He then impaled the male through his forehead, the first of many in the Gym. The room rang with screams, pain, and suffering. The pigs and their litter, none were spared. They were pathetic, not worth the air they squandered. If he wasn't sure that humans were held up in here he did now – thanks to this …Vickers. And yet the yellow vest, the male he was sure had military training led him here defended not a one. Tentacles slaughtered each one down to the last child, and then pulled aside the desk to search for his real target.  
  
He could smell him, the coward was hiding. He didn't feel anything for the now dead humans but the fact that this one didn't even try to defend them…he wanted to make him suffer on principle. As he started to walk towards where he was sure the male was hiding, a young male ran from the bathrooms. He looked to be prepubescent, the youngling's eyes dilated with fear.   
  
Before he could turn heel, the Tyrant looped a tentacle around the boy's ankle. The boy started to scream, the monster pulling him closer towards him. He reached down grabbing the boy by the neck, making sure to not squeeze too hard. He wanted the piglet to squeal. Maybe the male would come out and defend him. The child squirmed tears streaking down his face.  
  
'Officer Brad?  Are you t-there? I'm scared!?'  
  
He could faintly hear the male shift, but not come out. He decided to slowly squeeze the boy's neck as an incentive to draw the hider out.  
  
'Brad!? The monster…he's-he's hurting me!?' The child shrieked, then broke down into soft sobs, the male not even trying to play hero. Not even for this one.  
  
 _Pig is not going to defend his young?_    
  
'BRAD!!'  
  
 _Then it isn't worth keeping._  
  
The boy screamed his lungs out to a male that did not try to save him, the hidden male's fear overcoating the child's. He was bored now; the child did not coax the male out. The monster opens his maw and wetly closes over the boy's throat. The boy squirmed and then fell still his throat ravaged. He dropped the boy to his side partly satisfied for a spilt-second, but that fading, highly angered by the pure cowardice. The male that he saw in the picture; he should have more fight in him than this. He spits out the gore that filled his mouth, his intention of finding this coward high on his list.  
  
………………………………………………………………………………………………  
  
  
He tracked the male again, finding him encountering a female dressed in a blue top and black skirt. She had weaponry on her person, and despite the outfit, looked combat ready. He was on top of the nearby building beside the police department, eyeing him with disdain. She, on the other hand, …the eyes, the hair, her face came to him clearly. The male had led him to another source of fun. Another target at that. He'd best go down and thank him.  
  
The Tyrant leaped down, cutting off the blubbering male from the female. She could only stand there in shock, as the monster grabbed the petrified male with his left hand. The male in his grip had the nerve to scream for help. But just like the child, he received none. The Tyrant raised his other hand, slowly sliding out the tentacle from his palm. The look of fear was glorious. The female strangely wasn't radiating fear. He found that odd. No matter he will deal with her soon.   
  
The male shook his head, pleading, begging with his eyes. But the monster calmly raised his hand and impaled him through that begging mouth. The tentacle didn't just impale him; it rammed its full length busting completely through the back of the man's head. The man's body twitched and flailed, it not registering that the brain was dead. And with cold finality he retracted it back, the appendage leaving a trail of gore on his palm in the return trip. He wiped his hand on the man's stained vest; then tossed him aside like a rag doll.  
  
He then turned her direction, towering over the woman easily. But…she did not cower, did not beg, did not cry. She aimed her gun and began to fire. She spent the clip even as he rushed forward. She bowed to the side not expecting him to counter and punch her in the gut. She bowed over from it; he held back in meting out that punch wanting to see if this target would be of more entertainment. She looked up with rage, angry at the loss of her friend.  
  
And with that she fired another clip, having to know by now the pointlessness of it. He had her cornered now; a good strike and she would be dead by his hand. Any other human would panic, would scream. She did not. Her features read of experience, that the events happening in this town wasn't new to her.  _She stood in defiance of her fate._   This fire was what had him choose in the end to extend her life - just a little. This fire also pushed her to bum rush against him herself using her smaller size to slip past.  
  
She was sprinting into the police department. He half halfheartedly tried to grab her but she slips inside slamming the heavy doors. The doors have huge glass windows at their tops to let in the light through brilliant stained glass. The glass depicted a stunning scene of a mythic winged woman, her sword at the ready, the scale in her free hand. He leapt up to peer through the glass, leering at the stunned woman trapped inside. He looked at her, and then slowly licked the translucent glass, a perverse gesture keeping her full attention. The B.O.W. dropped down, banging the door, hearing the audible gasp from the other side.   
  
The woman seemed to like running. He didn't mind a good hunt. In fact, why not give her a head start?   
  
 _This female makes up for that boring male._  
  
He looked up, a soft growl coming from him, and studied the door where she was last seen. He blinked…  
  
And found himself back in the white room. But just like his dream, she sat, only a door between them. The irony was not lost on him ...but she seemed to need, to need the closeness this room gave. Unlike his dream, she wasn't running.  
  
Her voice was subdued, singing a poem. He recalled her doing this often when they were in route to a destination. Sometimes he'd like to think she sang it not for herself for them both. It was a soft, somber melody that would sing in his mind hours after. It wafted muffled by the door between them…but he followed along, the words ringing clear in his memory as if she sat beside him.   
  
"For I pray for tempest tossed, lost souls.  
Eternal sleep is where you find true peace."  
  
And for the moment he felt at ease, her voice keeping his internal madness at bay.


	7. The Devil's Slumber-6 Gluttony

**Gluttony  
  
I'm stuck just like a pig  
Roasting in your eyes  
I'll believe anything that you want  
You gotta teach me how to live  
Cause you make me wanna die  
You took it all, now you're all I've got **  
  
………………………………………………………………………………………………  
  
  
His thoughts roamed again, bringing up the same line of questioning that has plagued him for weeks, months now.   
  
 _Wait. Why does she interest me so? Why did I even allow her to live…_  
  
Pondering his irrational actions towards this woman.  
  
 _She's a hunter like I. Not weak like the others. That seems like a safe reason._  
  
She holds her ground to anyone, even that loud male. He could not help but overhear their vicious shouting match outside the hall.  
  
 _That male…his fingers I wish to break them, not good enough, never was._  
  
That male just wants to get rid of him. But if he behaves, he'll have no reason to, right? But the Tyrant could not help but inwardly smile; the female stood up for him, fought for him. That means something right?  
  
He sits up as she storms inside the white room, her face trying to mask the fuming anger that of a few seconds ago framed her face.   
  
"Get ready. We have another mission."  
  
The excitement of more blood, more destruction filled him. These missions were one of the few things he could count on to pass the monotony of his existence. Save for her. Feeling a useless thing die in his hands; knowing she would let him do it without judgment…it was an indescribable feeling. She was not stopping him from doing what he did best.   
  
And to be honest, she wasn't walking away without a few notches herself. She wasn't afraid to kill. This again added to the confusion he had towards her. Most of her kind would hesitate, going for the least lethal route. But she would shoot without question; throw herself into the fray. She was like that years ago and was even more so now. He still thought to that day, when she went against her own rules letting him kill that filthy male. He had smelt of waste, his pants front tinted yellow. The rage in her eyes, the disgust – she had walked away letting the B.O.W. terminate him. It was…  
  
It was…as if she saw what he saw. Saw how useless the majority of her kind was.   
  
 _So alike when she gets like that, intense, angry._  
  
He nods, following her out to the van. Watches the humans she supposedly worked with scatter if not outright avoid them. Sits and waits as she drives hours away to a new hunting ground.  
  
 _She's more like him then she wants to admit. She…only looked like them._  
  
………………………………………………………………………………………………  
  
  
The Tyrant sat, reading, mulling over what this machine told him. The computer – it told him of what significance he was, and what his brothers died for. One notable file was opened:  
  
 _xxx  
  
NEMESIS Project Report Summary 36  
  
September 9th, 1998  
  
The treatment of the four Nemesis T-Type units was a well-calculated move to manage aggression levels. Castrating the four units was planned, a standard procedure done to Tyrants to keep their aggression in check, but ironically the higher intelligence of the Nemesis-class Tyrants lowered their aggression as their higher intellect allowed them to rationalize situations.  
  
This was seen firsthand as one unit before procedure orchestrated a near successful escape before security was forced to terminate it. The castration of two of the three remaining was of standard procedure, the third kept as a control subject to compare against since these units are so rare. Unexpectedly the two castrated units showed signs of onset depression and lack of coping skills. This led to one physically and mentally shutting down and one staging a suicide/escape attempt.   
  
We closely monitored the lone surviving unit (branded T02), as finding a suitable Tyrant unit to survive another round of parasite injection is rare and not cost effective. But as to the aggression issue; we decided to use its intact biological urges as a way to raise said levels. Directives were initially set to disallow 'expenditure' but was still able to establish arousal. Programming the specific levels and commands to get this perfectly was difficult. So we decided to use outside subjects it encountered on a daily basis.   
  
Nurse Tracey Gamine, and Assistants John Brigham and George Tradis were not told as to have all data to be as non-biased as possible. Pheromones were periodically pumped into unit's cell whenever the party was present administering medication to increase reaction and to associate said scent with the three. Unit within the period of a week displayed signs of interest towards Ms. Gamine. The pheromones not only worked in increasing unit's arousal but also increased agitation levels; normal daily activity such as injections caused marked agitation. Unit used hostile action to avoid the daily shot and killed Mr. Brigham instantly. Mr. Tradis in engaging unit damaged unit's scalp causing the unit to later undergo emergency corrective surgery.   
  
Nurse Gamine had caused a different reaction from the unit, the subject proceeding to initiate relations. Directives seemed to interfere partially in the process causing the main parasitic brain to shut down. The body of the unit seemed to go back to baser instincts, using the original unused brain to consummate the action. Nurse Gamine was taken away in a catatonic state for examination. She was later discharged after no pregnancy was detected.  
  
After consummation, the main parasitic mind returned to prominence, the mind disoriented and agitated. The body itself experienced release, but the mind (as it was not functioning at the time) did not, leaving unit in a heightened aggressive state. The imputed directives then reacted meting out the deterrent after the fact. This caused the unit to react in pain the deterrent even if late fully functioning. After violently trying to attack the partition glass the unit was sedated, the test results overall successful. Directives were tweaked to raise the margin allowing arousal but non-completion, the deterrent to happen before not after.   
  
After patching up the open wound, unit was placed in inhibitor suit. Unit was shown pictures of future targets; the pheromone pumped to higher levels allowing unit to experience an almost euphoric state. The unit was then allowed to engage with five U.B.C.S. units, highly trained against B.O.W.s letting unit associate said earlier euphoric state with lethal engagement. Directives in wielding modified weaponry such as a stinger missile launcher were deemed successful after unit's fluid use of one in said field test.   
  
Unit is ready for Raccoon City insertion and live field testing. Prepare necessary containment and equipment to capture field data.  
  
Head Researcher S. Ghandon  
Umbrella Europe sixth lab, Paris  
  
xxx_  
  
  
Other files sat within the folder. Files of his extraction from the crater formerly known as Raccoon City; of these 'directives' being wiped clean. Notes, maintenance files that ended around 2002. In fact, most of the data suddenly stopped around that date with no recent updates for any of their programs.  
  
He was nothing but a toy, a subject…A part of him felt a deeper rooted betrayal the feeling as intense as the day he was pitted against his handler's 'expendables', and yet this, this is what only reinforced his worldview. That these creatures – they would kill their own kin if it meant power. Kill if they could get away with it. Worthless, craven the lot of them. His previous human Gods had forsaken him. No. Rather they created him and then as soon as they were done pushed him aside. Dark anger rose from him; the only reason he didn't actively lash out was the female nearby. Only because of her.  
  
  
 _Did she need to know this? Would she toss him aside knowing this?_  
  
  
He made a choice in dealing with this information; the first he honestly could say was one done of his own free will.   
  
………………………………………………………………………………………………  
  
  
The two sit outside by the van, him keeping watch over her unconscious form. He then leaned back, looking up at the sunset for distraction, passing the time remembering many things concerning the female in his lap - blond haired, brown haired; it did not matter, it all ended the same. A time where she electrocuted him. The many times where she shot him down, leaving him to sit in a pool of his own blood. The time where she burned him with acid.  
  
Even when he wasn't even himself anymore, the monster could clear as day remember that last sentence she declared as she put bullets into his head:  
  
'You want S.T.A.R.S.? I'll give you S.T.A.R.S.…!'  
  
And with each death, he wondered why.   
  
 _Why did he persist?_  
  
And now, now her punishments while not lethal…they have him on the wrong side, have him under a human's power. This should anger him. This should enrage him.  
  
 _But even when angry I just want more.  
  
Why?!_  
  
He remembers her flinging the water at him. Albeit unexpected, he turned his face away. Not because she wanted him to. No. Her irritation was part of the fun, making her angry meant she was focusing on him.  _Only him._  
  
He remembered staring at her, knowing he was making her squirm, but then he couldn't help it. That meant she was still focused on him…allowing him to indulge in her anger, her attention towards him. It was childish…and yet he wanted it all. He secretly could not bare her attention anywhere else. He secretly…hoped she would yell at him, hit him again.   
  
He found himself barely sleeping at all that night when she hosed him off. This feeling of… of someone weaker than him treating him like this…it was absurd. So damn absurd, unsettling. Yet every night since this feeling of …infuriating weakness… it only made him latch onto her more not less.   
  
 _Even when it hurts…it feels good?_     
  
It added to his frustration, but it only in his mind built his case his position concerning her. Who else would have the sheer audacity to dare look down at him? To even engage him on a semi 'equal' level? Not those other pigs they are surrounded with that's for sure.  
  
That file, it told him of the urges he was denied – how he could conceivably act on them now. At least he thought. He had not since his 'rebirth' felt any punishment or any of the shrill noises – but that didn't mean it wasn't there. He just didn't do anything deemed out of bounds yet.  _Right?_  
  
 _So warm…_  
  
She said that as he picked her up. She said that in reference to him.   
  
 _She…could? Would she…?_  
  
He had started to open and close his large palms again, a nervous habit specifically due to this woman sitting currently on his lap. The monster had taken to doing it more and more often usually when she was distracted. He could only wonder why he felt more and more inclined to do such an action outside of the room. But right now it was not working…her tired bloodied form looked so much like that, that highly frustrating day in that small chapel…her lying unaware, helpless.   
  
But unlike then he refused to give. Nothing came of that then, besides her needs are higher right now.  _Yes, tell myself this and nothing bad will happen. The pain in my head will stay at bay._  He should push her off his lap. He should not do this to himself; he softly slammed his head back against the van hoping the pain would momentarily make him ignore the increasing temptation. He then leaned back, looking up at the sunset for needed distraction. As the sky bled deeper shades of red and orange, his eye shut closed.  
  
……………………………………………………………………………………………  
  
  
He did not dream…but flew into the realm of fancy, his mind too restless and distracted for sleep. But it edged there, him able to wonder what if and what had. In this, he could have a little control, at least a little of her and a little of himself. He went back to that night; back to the rings of water. Back to her staring, her blue eyes ablaze with anger.  
  
Back to the moment before when she cleaned him. The soothing water covering him despite his aggravation at being cleaned…the way it splashed everywhere. He could see everything; how it dappled all over her form, how it made her useless clothing cling, how he wanted to just reach, just touch…  
  
And then he got caught; if it were anyone else he'd not care. Not give a damn. But for her, any reaction was better than none at all. And her reaction…for a moment there he could hear it in her voice, that soft husky feminine voice. He could not even if he wanted to turn away.   
  
But that was not what he remembered most.  
  
The tall Woman stood to his right, Her eyes narrowed in anger. Her brown hair flew freely almost like a wild veil around Her, the colorless eyes narrowed, Her brow furrowed. Her wings flared open as She looked upon him with disgust.   
  
The female got so angry…she pushed him down like a dog. He could see the world as a human would – on the ground waiting for punishment. And deep down he  _wanted_  it.  _Needed_  it. At least she was paying him mind. Not interacting with him because of a task, not babysitting, but merely because she could – could do such a thing. His face was framed by the water that ringed him in a halo of the day's blood. He could see that other Woman now, the one that walked in his dreams. She who he knew was beyond him and yet of him. And unlike the other times, She was seen Her anger was bleeding into Her features.  
  
He could only stare blameless at Her. He did not know that what he wanted was wrong. He did not, nor could not comprehend such a thing. And so he did what he wanted in this fancy, did what should disgust him. Should enrage him.  
  
The Tyrant licked the bottom of that boot, his eye slitting in an emotion he could not pin. Could not identify with, but it felt good all the same. Felt good like that time in a dead city…He licked it, wanting her to be happy, approving, the urge to be wanted stirring, flaring.  
  
The vengeful Woman could only look on not hiding Her rage but unable to do anything outside of a dream. A fancy was not as boundless as a dream, or a memory. A fancy was a string the wisher had full control over.   
  
'And so you've made your choice. May you lie in it.'  
  
He could only wonder what such a statement would or could mean. A small sound left his throat before reality pulled him out of his reverie. The female had shifted in his lap startling the distracted Tyrant. Thankfully he had not gotten too far, he needed to control himself.   
  
 _Needed to…needed to wait!_  
  
The monster hadn't openly wandered in thought with her present before. And knowing the files he read…he knew he needed to be more careful, be more patient. Even though everything in his being screamed, screamed louder than that noise that had kept him pinned down all this time.   
  
And her scent…that scent from years ago, the scent that he smells almost all the time now, told him despite appearances …she was doing the same.


	8. The Devil's Slumber- 7 Lust

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lust. With such a title - guess. This runs alongside that 'other' Lust chapter…this will NOT make sense without reading that first. If you did, you won't be all that shocked.

**Lust  
  
I let the words shot down my throat  
A face like an iron fist  
That I can never resist  
I learn the ...  
Words of wisdom from your tyrant mouth**  
  
………………………………………………………………………………………………  
  
 _Don't touch me…_  
  
Her soft hands held him, those hands that merely wanted him to look at her. But looking, just looking was making things hard to ignore. Her scent, her closeness – he shouldn't…  
  
 _I want to behave…_  
  
Her face…it draws him more and more, it hurts so badly. The confusion in her eyes, the lines blur … _is she a nurse_? The female, why is she backing away? The noise isn't screaming, it's quiet…oh so quiet. This can't be wrong if the noise is gone. Right?  
  
But she's backing away. She's never backed from him, not like this. Even at the creek, she wasn't as skittish as now. But her scent, it's everywhere now; it's filled the padded room, strangling him.   
  
 _I want her. Need her. Doesn't she feel the same? She smells the same…_  
  
He leans against her that flush crossing her cheeks. The flush telling him she understands, knows what he's asking for. He cups her, knowing that humans are so frail, reminding himself to not break her. Telling himself that she must know, must understand, must want this as much as he.  
  
He did not expect her to dodge, did not expect her to fight him. He tried, how he tried to pin her, to keep her down. Her face would sometimes change, from the startled blond to a frightened nurse, a nurse that screamed as he bent her over. A guttural snarl came from him as the female slapped him.  _Why…?_  The blow shocked him, not expecting her to do such a thing. But he had to, had to convince her, this must happen, eye begging.   
  
 _She smells so good so ready…_  
  
He pinned her flat, trying to keep her from thrashing, wanting her to calm down even though asking the same from himself was too, too hard… Her leg lifts up, kicking him low. He grunted in pain  _I…I…_ *!* before a sharp prick was felt in his side. As the contents do their work, his eye could only silently plead:  
  
 _please…please, let me…PLEASE! it hurts…it hurts and I want to die…_    
  
His bid fell with his consciousness, the last thing he thought was a woman across from him, with a blank stare, bleeding between broken legs, a room filled with gas.  
  
……  
  
He awoke minutes later feeling numb, so lost, his thoughts scattered. He momentarily had to gather himself wondering why he was on the floor…the scent of both himself and her hung heavily in the air. The smells jogged his memory.  
  
A deep ache filled him like poison – and the only cure sat confused and scared on the other side of the door. So close and yet too, too far. It was like standing in front of the glass partition, but instead of soulless humans, it was the one that rewarded him one in return.   
  
 _Why…why did she run this time?_  
  
He could only palm the door, softly palming it, trying to somehow to get at her to coax her back inside. But a terrifying feeling wailed, deeper than rage, or base instinct, a feeling that made everything else seem trivial. Made him feel vulnerable, weak. The very things he despised of her kind.  
  
 _She…was supposed to be his…right?_  
  
It consumed him, killed him; till it was all he could feel – as he roared loudly, tearing anything and everything in his path apart in deep despair.  
  
………………………………………………………………………………………………  
  
  
He expected that eventually, she would send him away, destroy him. She told him so. Told him with such coldness and finality. He secretly hoped she would. Hoped she would discard him to the side. It wasn't like that was a new thing for him. Hoped as then, then he could stop hurting. Stop thinking.   
  
 _She promised when she killed me the first time…promised I'd see stars. But I'm still here.  
  
Still here._  
  
The female's handlers had another mission for them. Not her.  _Them_. She hasn't decided to tell that loud male anything. She acts as if nothing is wrong.  _Why?_  The drive was long, quiet…save for the occasional hum of that song again. How even with the rift between them it still soothed him. But not once did she look at him. Not once. Even a glare or acknowledgment of anger would do.   
  
 _Anything._  
  
If only, only he could read her…it felt like he never knew this human truly at all. This only adds to his longing and …emptiness.  
  
They landed upon their coordinates, a small shack to rest up for the night. He did sense a feeling of hesitation from her. As if she assumed …assumed he would try again.  
  
 _Is that what she expects of me?_  
  
They sit in quiet, awkward silence. Quiet until she could take no more. Quiet until her mind dumped her internal pain onto him, used him to cope with it all. Used him.  
  
 _Is that what she wants of me? Needs of me?_  
  
She looked up at him, her eyes filled with tears, a brokenness that was well hidden and yet in plain view. The winds had forced them in this small shack, the female losing her self at first to her rage, then to her grief. She had leaned into his chest, demanding things he couldn't give. He couldn't talk, not give her anything but his obedience.  _That's what she wanted, wasn't it?  
  
Why  **does**  he stay and not just  **take**  what he wants?_  
  
These questions rolled through his mind ever since the incident in the white room. Ever since he destroyed it in his own grief. Grief that he was wrong about her after all. But she leaned into his lap, her wet tears running down his suit. Her hands clung to his leathers shaking in her sobs. His hands still hung by his sides, letting her be…until he felt her soft hands cup his face. She had wiped her arm across her tear-streaked face, looking directly up into his one, her blue eyes puffy and ringed in red.  
  
 _Why does she holding him feel so comforting?_    
  
She sat up, having her face level with his; her lips ghosting his exposed teeth. Her voice came out soft now, the harshness from her yelling gone:  
  
'Just. Just once I'd like to, like to hear you talk. Like to…for just once. Just tonight.' Her voice trembled, her saying one thing, but her eyes...they said something else entirely. Something crossed them, that same something that kept him awake wanting, needing.   
  
 _Those eyes were begging for freedom too…_  
  
'Just for tonight. Please, just for tonight…'  
  
 _Does ...she need him now?_    
  
She leaned all the way, kissing him softly against them. Her fingers softly motioned for him to open his mouth; they shared something that was punctuated by the winds that pelted the shack. The winds that tried to separate but were for tonight, just tonight were kept away.  
  
 _Did she always?_  
  
Her hands, soft but deliberate started to unclasp the battered top; unhooking each button until the stretch of abdomen and navel were visible. She kneaded the skin causing him to shift. The fear in him rose again, alien but undeniably there; fear that he would feel good like that time long ago…only to have it ripped from under him. Her hands pushed against him; the fear that he would be denied again swam – until her soft hand cupped his leading them to the small bed to the far side of the room. She guided him to the bed, motioning for him to sit; to lay back.   
  
She stood in front of him, leaning to the exposed skin from the open part of his coat. Soft breathing ghosted downward; the feel of warm lips against his navel caused him to buck upwards. Her hands pushed down, non verbally telling him to control himself. He could only obey. Could only look up as she took off her top. Her skin was so pale; full of marks, scars. He wondered to this 'Wesker'.  _Did he do this to her?_  A twinge of both anger and jealousy rose in him. The thought that some undeserving male did this; that he himself didn't leave a one…  
  
That train of thought was quickly derailed, as her bottoms fell, exposing her fully nude form to him. His breath hitched, every pale curve standing out to him, despite the old cuts and scars. If anything they only gave her a feral beauty, the victory marks of a warrior, a hunter. She leaned between his legs, they and a third of his form lying off the bed. She leaned to his navel again. But instead of kissing, her lips started to pull, sucking on the sensitive spots near it.  
  
He was using every inch of his willpower to not buck up again, wanting to thrust upward, but not wanting her to stop altogether. A free hand snaked onto his pants front, stroking, coaxing him through the increasingly tighter pants. His hands were tearing at the sheets, the touches driving him mad. That hand was replaced with soft kisses down the inseam. His brow furrowed his lone eye lidding half closed. She looked up at him, her eyes reading everything, eyes that showed her need as much as his one.   
  
Her hand slid back upwards, sliding into his pants. This time there was no way he could repress the jerk upwards. Just a touch and already he was biting his tongue in excitement, balling the sheets in his fists.    
  
 _Is this what 'good' feels like?_  
  
Her hand ringed around him, stroking, causing him to arch into those fingers the touch new but yet causing that old fire that he feared. Feared it both that he'd be punished for it and yet feared it would be taken away from him. The feel of her small hands was temporary, the removing of her soft hand causing a needy whine to come unbidden from him. At any other point in time, he would be furious at himself for such weakness.   
  
 _But with her it was okay. With her, it didn't matter._  
  
That same hand unsnapped and removed his skirt. That same hand unzipped his pants, and with the other pulled them halfway down his hips, freeing himself in front of her. For a good long moment, a series of thoughts entered his mind. The foremost was that of an alien sense of modesty. It never actually occurred to him what her reaction would be. But all those thoughts were pushed aside as she merely smiled; an almost predatory one at that.  
  
She crawled back on top of him, lying against him. She slowly rocked against him, the feel of her just being near causing him to arch. Her lips ghosted his nape; the feel of her unclothed rubbing against him. At this she brought his large hands against her, a sly smile crossing her features. She held his hands against her hips, positioning herself over top of him.   
  
The female whispered, more to herself than him:  
  
'Just for tonight…' And he could only nod slowly, as she pushed herself down onto him.  
  
The feeling was…it felt as if his world dropped from under, blooming into something much more. So much more than a fresh kill, so much more than a stolen touch. She sat unmovingly; he followed her lead - every sensation new not wanting to miss anything. He tossed his head to the side, his teeth biting into the soft fabric beneath him. Her soft hands held his, as she started to move amplifying what he felt tenfold.  
  
Her face, no her entire front seemed to tint a faint red, her smaller form arching against his. His hands could not help but roam, wanting to feel every inch, wanting to make sure she was  **real**  and not just the sand. Hands that felt every bump, every scar, hands that wanted to leave their own. His right hand roamed higher to her shoulder, stopping at a round shaped indentation. It was faint, but he  _knew_  that mark.   
  
That night when he wanted to give her nothing but pain – she leaned into the touch knowing what he was thinking. His thumb stroked it, the pad circling the scar that would forever bond them. She grabbed that hand, pulling it up closer to her lips slipping the digit between them. Just like…  
  
!  
  
She faintly smiled, a secret unveiled and another shattered. This female, this prey - was full of secrets, her truer motivations concerning him never clear, and probably never will be. But that's ok, this is only for tonight.  _Just for tonight._  If he reminds himself this, just reminds himself this one point, he can live with the after. She slips it out of her mouth, her hips ceasing their movement. She motioned for him to turn over, placing herself on the bottom.   
  
 _She's allowing me to…to_    
  
'Just for tonight', she whispered in his nape. He pushed her down, pulling her legs around his hips, pushing her into the mattress. He could feel her bucking against him now, her cries urging him on, her hands pushing up under his coat before him flinging it completely off. Her nails scratched his skin, him rutting into her his covered feet tiptoeing off the floor. Her legs ringed around him tightly pushing his pants lower down his legs.   
  
She sounded so beautiful when she sang; that song from years ago filled the room; her body tensing, tightening all around him. But unlike that day, he was allowed to join her, feeling for the first time relief, completion, and contentment. The feeling is wild, alien to him but he doesn't care.   
  
Let the winds answer for him.  
  
As he holds her, feels her soft ragged breathing against his neck, a feather floats by his eye bringing to his attention to the Woman sitting at the window. A bridle hung limply from Her hand. As he turned to look back at the woman under him he saw nothing around him but sand. Darkness and sand filled his vision, his clothing in tatters.


	9. The Devil's Slumber - Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *lyrics: RE5 OST - Pray

**Epilogue**  
  
He had found himself in the sands, presumed lost by the female for over a week. He did what he had to…he had to even if it gut him inside. Even if he had to hear her cry, her soft sounds of loss the last sound he heard from her – before others came to take her away. Others that told her it was a lost cause. Him not being able to talk, too weak to make any noise; to tell her it was ok.   
  
 _Monsters don't feel._  
  
His face laid against the sandy ledge, trying to shut out the feelings that came…feelings he refused to feel since his kin one by one died. No, he must spend his energy getting out of here. After that…   
  
He rested, letting his limbs regenerate. He was lucky that this ledge was here, or his climb out would have been even more tedious.   
  
 _Would he have done the same over again?  
  
  
Yes.   
  
Yes, he would._  
  
For of all the worthless humans, she was one he found worthy of saving. Worthy of having. As he moved his newly regenerated hand, he started to climb upwards. He thinks back to her voice, the song that came from her lips keeping him moving:  
  
'When dark days came to us.  
We found no haven or escape.'  
  
 _Nemesis climbs up the wall of sands pooling around his tired large fingers. The sands billow and shift and at times a whole arm sinks within the moving wall._  
  
All our prayers go unanswered, to take away this fear within.  
Our screams shake this tear stained land.'  
  
 _Jill tosses sleepless in her bed, her face streaked with wetness, her face rife with grief. Circles ring her eyes, and she softly clutches a black buckle in her hands._  
  
Our souls have been stripped bare.  
Can madness be the only Cure?'  
  
 _Nemesis stalks the Arizona sands the sun beating down hard on his tall ragged form, his topcoat in tatters._  
  
Even death is no respite from all this pain, our worldly plight.  
When will we see heaven's light?'  
  
 _A month later Jill looks down at the small item in her hand; the reading it gave...She sits down on the bathroom floor trying to catch her breath…a tear sliding freely down her face._  
  
I think of you whenever a bell tolls.  
If I tell your tale, will this pain cease?'  
  
 _Nemesis returns to the bunker a week after Jill has left…but overhears Chris discuss a location with Sheva outside. They turn in response to a noise but it was as if no one was ever there._  
  
For I pray for tempest-tossed, lost souls.  
Eternal sleep is where you find true peace.'  
  
 _They wake the morning after in the small bed, both wanting, wishing that the world would just stop for them… just a little while longer._  
  
Both knowing that once they left it that it would go on without them as it had always before.  
  
………………………………………………………………………………………………  
  
  
-Seven years later-  
  
  
A small child, looking no older than six or so was out playing in a local park. She wore her hair in pigtails, the looks comparing her to her mother uncanny. She was making small sand castles, being a princess one moment; being a giant crushing them the next. A rugged man sits near her reading a paper, but still watching her. He leans to inquire from a nearby parent the topic of the paper. They talk politics and gossip.   
  
While distracted a thin, too friendly man walks up to her, telling the child he had something neat towards his car. She asks if she should ask permission, but as the other man was distracted told the little girl it was ok. He takes her small hand in his jittery one, hoping to leave unseen.  
  
She walks with him through the park, smiling happily. He and the child stop by a tree, enjoying the fall weather. The girl then cheerfully declares:  
  
"My Daddy says you're a bad, bad man. I don't talk to bad people."   
  
The man, off-put by such a random statement asks where he is, assuming the man he saw her with was probably still chatting up the other parents.  
  
"Behind you."   
  
She points a dirt covered hand directly behind him. The man turns and gasps, turning a few shades of white. The child smiles upwards at the leather-clad visitor, grinning down with an equally predatory smile.

**Author's Note:**

> Reposted from my dA under the same name originally in 2010.


End file.
